Damsel in Distress
by liekomfgits kate
Summary: In times of war, you're forced to choose sides. The story of two people just as lost and messed up as the world they live in and how they could possibly be together. Rated M to be safe and such.


**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own Harry Potter. I just dress them up pretty and then make them play in my sordid, perverted stories. Yes.

He doesn't mind at all when she pushes past him roughly, partly because he gets a whiff of her hair, rose scented, but mostly because of the folded parchment, pressed into his hands when she storms by. "Draco," she whines, "Wait." He doesn't even mind that, because she never says "Draco" the way she says his name, and she never looks at Draco like him, even though they're going out. 'The fucking Slytherin couple' he thinks, not caring that Hermione is looking from him to Pansy and Harry is hiding his smirk. Harry, his best friend, is the only one who knows about his midnight adventures, but Hermione is no idiot, and she knows that he's not with her.

He doesn't like to hurt people, but he will if he had to. Like he did to Dean when he made Ginny cry. No one makes his little sister cry and gets away with it. He knows that Ginny claims to hate him, but she doesn't. Trying to hide the stupid grin crossing his face and forcing away all intelligent thought, he wonders why, after a month of not talking, she suddenly snaps. He'll read it later, and she knows it, turning to look at him, serrepticiously. He doesn't care that he's smiling broadly now, doesn't care that Hermione is touching his arm, telling him to not walk so fast, to slow down lest he run into the Slytherins.

Later, in the quiet of the prefect's bathroom, he reads it again, the paper worn at the edges; he's read it and refolded it so many times. It doesn't matter that the water is cold and the bubbles have long since melted away. It matters only that he can picture her face, smiling and smirking alternatively as he kisses her neck, leaving marks that she magicks away in the morning. "You can't keep your hands off me, Weasley." she remarks, trademark smirt in place. But she's a hypocrite and he tells her that because her hands are on his face, in his hair, and she knows it.

It wasn't like being with Hermione, blankets neat, going back to their separate beds, and kissing in the dark. Half the time, the lights are on, and an imprint of her body remains on his for hours, when he wakes up to her sprawled across him. If they sleep at all. There is no dark with her, everything is clear-cut and bright. And he wasn't surprised when she told him she couldn't do it anymore, only when she told him she was scared, and that she loved him. How un-Slytherin. Hermione was not her, and sex wasn't enough. He'd be hexing himself in the foot if he stayed and she didn't get it like Pansy would have.

"Meet me in the Prefect's room, I have to tell you something." her note said, huge scribbled letters, half cursive, half print. He didn't care about that, and she certainly didn't. But nothing about her, from the way she teasingly bit on his nipples to the way she was such a goddamn bitch, pinning his arms above his head so he couldn't touch her at all, had no control over anything, was half-arsed. He certainly didn't control his body. Hermione floated in front of him, and he smiled, thinking about how she was just so DIFFERENT, and how Pansy hated her, hated perfection. She had told him flat out, "I'm not perfect."

"I don't expect you to be."

"Good. I'm no damsel in distress either."

"And I'm no savior."

_I am not a pretty girl.  
That is not what I do.  
I ain't no damsel in distress;  
And I don't need to be rescued. _

He recalled their first kiss, couldn't help but compare it to the one he first shared with Hermione. He had thought she was the one, and to her, he still was the one. It had been slow and gentle; they'd gone a whole month before he had even been allowed to run his tongue through her mouth. Pansy was like a bloody lion, used to dominating the whole thing. It was messy, and she had bitched about the "fucking brick lines in my back!" for three days until he had silencio-ed her into oblivion and hadn't even cast the spell. Pressed against the wall, not caring who saw. It was a reoccuring theme in the relationship, not caring.

But she cared. They had been forced to do prefect rounds together. "Ron, I'm so sorry!" Hermione had said, teary-eyed, "Draco thinks it's funny." Harry raised an eyebrow at the lack of surname but didn't comment, fights with his friends were not events he enjoyed. They had fought and fought and then...they fucked, and all in secret, couldn't hold hands or even talk during the day. She had broken down, crying about her uncle, who had died in the war, and he had apologized, awkwardly. She glared and said, "I am not a damsel in distress." He had laughed, and it was a surprising sound, breaking through her ragged sobs and the thick silence that normally cloaked them.

"You look like a goddamn raccoon," he'd teased her, talking about the heavy eyeliner and mascara she wore that dripped down her cheeks and made her brown eyes look huge. CRACK was the sound of her hand hitting his cheek and then he was looking at the tip of her wand in his face. He was taller than her, but not by much, she was tall in her own right. "TAKE. THAT. BACK." "It was a bloody JOKE Parkinson, fucking hell." "Take it back you stupid red-haired prat. I let good-looking guys say what they want but--"

The silence that followed could have strangled someone.

He'd looked at her and opened his mouth to respond, but thought better and kissed her instead. Kissing led to full snogging which had led to his tower and then to the couch that Dean had yelled at Ginny on a few nights ago. She'd looked around briefly, a gleam of revolt in her eyes. "It's all redddaaaahhhhhh..." she'd muttered, voice becoming higher pitched as he ran his thumb lightly over her hardened nipple, before sliding his hands under her shirt and plain ripping it off. "That was expensive," she had exclaimed. But he kissed her again, and she forgot her thoughts, forgot that this was forbidden.

Wrong.

_Get a load of me, get a load of you,  
Walkin' down the street, and I hardly know you.  
It's just like we were meant to be._

_Holding hands with you when we're out at night,  
Got a girlfriend, you say it isn't right.  
And I've got someone waiting too._

The red should have clued her in, the yellow trim everywhere, even his skin looked yellow where the flickering firelight hit it. But her face was red from the way he was licking her neck, and her skin gleamed just as yellow as his. She had shrugged, a small movement he'd bearly noticed. Then his shirt was unbuttoned, his tie somewhere near the door, robes long since shed. And he didn't care that this was wrong, that he had a girlfriend and she had a career, lady death eater that she would end up being. All that mattered were the quiet moans she was uttering and the way her muscles tightened around his finger, probing her slick flesh.

'Screw this.' he thought and that was certainly close to the truth. He had thrust inside of her harder than she expected and was surprised indeed to find that she was tight like Hermione had been the first time. Eyes open, he had stared at her flushed face, and she had said harshly, "Yeah, I'm a fucking virgin. Why?" But her eyes were tearing and no one should be so goddamn strong all the time, and he had slowed down. The pace was killing him but soon she was bucking into his hips, hands pulling at his hair. He slid a finger in, stroking her clit slowly, until she had nearly sobbed.

The only thing that surprised him was when she finally orgasmed and screamed his name, not Weasley! but Ron! He liked the way it sounded coming from her and allowed his aching body to collapse on top of her, groaning her name as he finally came. He'd bit her shoulder, hard, and she had been furious. "I don't know how to get rid of THIS," she had glowered, clasping her bra and glaring at him. Laughingly, he had said the spell, enfuriating her more because he knew and she didn't. "Fuck you, Weasley. Bloody show-off." "Rememdius Turgu," he murmered, the love bites on her neck disappearing also.

Her robes were done up and she was running her hands through her hair, smoothing it down. A long silence had passed and the spell was broken by someone clearing their throat loudly. Jumping, both had whirled, wands drawn, to find Harry Potter looking down from the stairs shrewedly at them. "Seamus heard some...er, _banging_ down in the common room." Harry said, looking from Pansy to Ron to their disheveled hair and at Ron's tie, messily done, collar of Pansy's shirt sticking up.

"You know the way out," Ron said softly, and Pansy turned on her heel, robes flowing behind her, swirling around her shapely legs. But before she climbed out, she turned and lifted her head haughtily, "I didn't expect you to see me out, anyhow." Harry said goodnight, Ron said he'd be right there, and both turned, walking in opposite directions. Pansy was leaning against the wall, skin pale and silvery in the moonlight filtered through by the long windows at the end of the corridor. "Thought you didn't need any escorts," Ron whispered, looking at her face. She didn't flush but looked him straight and said, "You ARE a Gryffindor, I knew you'd come out."

He walked her back and every other meeting had ended like this. He broke off with Hermione, leaving her alone in the hallway in front of Pansy, who had smiled, and then rudely tripped Hermione and walked off, laughing about 'clumsy mudbloods' with Blaise Zabini, who reminded him of Dean. They hadn't talked until the end when she had said, "I'm, uh, sorry." and he had replied, "I'm not the one you should be fucking apologizing to." Was it love when even though you wanted to kill the person in question, you ended up having sex with them, and feeling whole when you woke up in your heavily warded bed to find them looking at you?

"You're covered with freckles." she'd said disdainfully. "I was counting them." "Really?" "Yeah, you know you've got a whole army of them on your arse?" "You counted those too?" "62." "I've got one right here," he said softly, even though he knew his wards were excellent, the spell from Hermione herself. "Really?" she'd remarked, looking at him while she ran the velvety tip of her tongue along the length of his erection. Shifting in the bed so that her bum was in his face and she was crouching on his stomach, he'd pointed, arms wrapped around her, at another "freckle" he had. She had licked that too, and they missed breakfast, partly because they were thus occupied, partly because they came down separately.

He hadn't cried when she told him it was through, and she didn't want him to.

He understood her, knew why she had to, even though he didn't WANT her to. But safely and love (was it love?) were not on the same level, and when it came to a crazy dark lord who would kill your family if you declined an invite to become a fellow follower and a red-haired lover, the dark lord won, hands down. That didn't make it hurt any less when he saw her holding hands with Malfoy, whispering in his ear. They didn't make eye contact for a week. But he couldn't stop looking at her.

_But there's no blame,  
For how our love did slowly fade.  
And now it's gone.  
It's like it wasn't there at all.  
And here I stand,  
Where disappointment and regret collide;  
Lying awake at night._

He went out a few times, once with Parvati, once with a cheerful Hufflepuff named Hannah, but they didn't really MEAN anything like SHE did. He imagined that in his head, it was She, never she.

So it wasn't with a heavy heart he went with, creeping down the darkened halls, borrowed invisibility cloak wrapped about his body. The prefect's room was pitch black and he wondered if she was there, but was momentarily distracted by the fact that a heavy oak desk had hit his foot, HARD. Or was it the other way around?

"Lumos!" someone whispered sharply, and Pansy's face, white and frightened appeared. He smiled and bent down to kiss her lips lightly but she pulled away. Looking around before she spoke, she looked radiant in the wandlight. "Look, Weasley. You've just got to stop staring at me. Dra-Malfoy's getting suspicious, he might hex you." Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair so it stuck up, looking wind ruffled. "But I-" "No," she whispered, voice harsh, "it's over. It never was to begin with. It was lust, I don't feel anything, I don't love you."

He just looked at her.

"Ron...say something."  
"You don't mean it."

Those four words broke down a huge wall she had built up; try as she might, he knew her, and he knew she wasn't quite as strong as she pretended.

Her shoulders slumped, and she began to cry tearlessly, falling into his arms that he held. "You don't know how...how horrible it is. I try so hard, but I'm not like them, what's so wrong with muggles anyhow! They never did anything wrong, and they-" But then it was silent as he kissed her.

But for once it mirrored Hermione, gentle and slow, as his fingers brushed lightly over her face, flicking away the tears that had begun to fall, making their way across her pale, shadowed face. He deepened the kiss, beginning to stir as she pressed her body against his. "I missed you." she said and he'd put a finger to her lips, although snogging was a more efficient way to shut her up.

For once she didn't complain as he pressed her against the cold brick wall, lithe body against hers.

Just as suddenly, he pulled away and grasping her arm, he tilted her face up towards his and murmered, "Here's to goodbyes."

Her eyes widened, and he pulled away, invisibility cloak hiding him from her view

He didn't look back to see her face, couldn't stay there any longer, knew if he did, what little resolve he had would crumble, and nothing would be there to prevent him from killing Malfoy, from kissing her in public, in front of Hermione, in front of Voldemort himself, in front of the whole goddamn world. 'For once,' he reflected, 'I'm doing the right fucking thing.' Pansy watched as he walked away, hunched over, turning his back on the one person that could make him burn with emotion. She called after him, patronizingly, "I didn't expect you to see this through anyhow."

But then he was there, holding her close, tilting her head so he could kiss her deeply, so fast she swore he Apparated, even though Apparation wasn't even possible. "I can't do it, Pans," he groaned, broken, "I can't fucking do it." She cocked her head sideways and looked at him, all soft brown eyes and swollen lips, thick brown hair that fell in a mass of waves about her too-skinny body. He looked at her, blue eyes half closed, hair messed up, lips shiny from her tongue running across them. "Thought you didn't need a boyfriend on the wrong side anyway."

"Well...you ARE a Gryffindor, I know you'll choose the right side."  
"Oh, of course."  
"I'm warning you, the moment the dark lor-", she trailed off, then looked at him, a glazed determined look on her face now. Speaking softer, she replied, "The moment Voldemort comes to kill me...you better fuckin' be there."  
"I thought you weren't-"  
"I'm no savior."  
"-a damsel in distress?"  
"Just fucking kiss me, you prat."

The moonlight shone down upon them, as they walked hand in hand, waiting for the world to see them walk to Ron's dorm.

_Do you remember what you told me?  
You said you're holding me up, me up.  
Darling, yeah, you sold me,  
When you said you're holding me up, me up. _

_So get your feet on the floor and you're making a stand now.  
You get what you get so get,  
So get what you can.  
But just remember what you told me,  
You said you're holding me up, me up._

**A/N: **Thank you for any and all reviews, you guys are awesome. I fixed some errors in the story. This is a one-shot, I think I mentioned that in the summary. Again, I don't own Harry Potter, and I thank everyone 100 times over.


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